


Your eyes are like starlight now

by Thatscoolbutwhataboutlarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Harry, Christmas Smut, Couch Sex, Cute Ending, Cute Harry, Dom Louis, Harry in Lace, Harry in Panties, I almost forgot, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Sorry, M/M, Naughty Harry, Sexy Harry, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spanking, Sub Harry, Then, Top Louis, Yes Santa Claus, but he's on the nice list, in the beggining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 08:23:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5532419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatscoolbutwhataboutlarry/pseuds/Thatscoolbutwhataboutlarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're not Santa."</p><p>"You're not three years old...anymore."</p><p>Or the one where Harry is at the top of the nice list, and Louis is not who Harry anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your eyes are like starlight now

**Author's Note:**

> Usually, I'm better at summaries, but this is such an odd story. I'm so sorry. Santa is also not a huge part of this story, so don't worry.
> 
> Nourhan was my lovely beta because she always comes through for me even when I write the most bizarre things instead of finishing up her fic. I love you even though you are a bitch!
> 
> {Title from the beautiful song Baby It's Cold Outside}

Santa Claus; a household name, but only believed in for a brief period of one's life. The man in red is a source of joy and hope for children around the globe, but that glee is not permanent. As these same children mature, their belief dwindles, melts like a snowflake fallen into hot cocoa. Yet the tradition and Santa live on because despite their disbelief, parents still tell their children that Saint Nicholas delivers their presents.

The cycle of naïve optimism transforming into leery incredulity has been going on for centuries and shows no sign of halting any time soon. Each child matures into an adult and abandons that piece of hope in their heart. Well, all but one.

As a youthful child, Harry was just like every other kid his age around Christmas time. Cheerful, joyous, happy to give and even happier to receive, but as he aged, something changed, set him apart from the others. Whereas they all matured and cold bitterness touched their heart. Harry continued to be his good natured and trusting self. He never grew out of Santa Claus, never relinquished the happiness that Christmas and the simple idea of Santa Claus brought to him. All throughout junior high he shunned the idea of Santa being anything but one hundred percent real. Even through high school, he kept that belief.

Even now, as he bundles himself up into the many layers of clothing he has piled onto himself, Harry sticks to that mindset. The white fluff ball on the end of his pink Santa hat bounces up and down with every step he takes in the snow. With a giggle, Harry takes his hand out of the pocket of his long, puffy, black coat and pokes the ball. His pink mitten catches a few of the snowflakes as they gently float down, covering everything in a peaceful white blanket. The mitten also prevents Harry from creating any real sound when he knocks on the door to his mother's house, but his sister manages to hear him nevertheless and opens the door for him, quickly wrapping him up in a hug.

Gemma takes Harry to greet their mother who welcomes him with a warm hug and a whispered verbal greeting. Harry squeezes back and smiles at her, stepping away to strip of his winter apparel. As he does this, he stares at the fireplace.

His belief in Santa is not based entirely on faith. The same fireplace that he is staring longingly at now had given Harry the most influential piece of information on the existence of Santa. Harry had met Santa Claus. No, not the mall Santa that always smells like tuna, but the legitimate Saint Nick. The one that smells like cookies and milk, the one whose laughs practically emanate magic. Well, technically Harry hadn't actually met him. He saw the old man. He was far too terrified and busy to talk to him.

Harry had just awoken from his sleep to retrieve a glass of water from the kitchen when he heard footsteps, two pairs of them. Excitement bubbling up in his tiny chest, Harry quickly but not so quietly snuck down the stairs to get a better view. There in front of the tree was a man in a red suit with white fur trimming. When he gasped, Harry clasped his hands over his own mouth unsuccessfully attempting to take the sound back.

A little boy stepped out from behind Santa with furrowed eyebrows, searching for the source of the noise. Their eyes met and the older boy walked towards Harry, standing quite a few inches above the boy. Harry, eyes wide, asked in fairly loud whisper if the man delivering him gifts, was actually Santa Claus to which the mystery boy snickered and nodded.

The two young boys spoke for a while until Santa tossed his sack over his shoulder and whispered for someone named Louis. Then presumably Louis waved goodbye to Harry and walked over to Santa, distracting him enough for Harry to rush upstairs to his room. Even as Harry laid in bed, he thought of the boy and their conversation about presents and Christmas traditions. Theirs were so different from each other's. It was almost as if they were from different continents. Granted, Harry didn't know the definition of continent at the time, and he didn't know enough to realize who Louis was.

The encounter remained a secret, at first because no one would believe him at home and later on because he realized just how cool it felt to have a secret that no one else knew. Harry doesn't know why he still has not told anyone. The time has never really arisen, he supposes. There's no other explanation. He hasn't forgotten.

One of the many traditions in the Styles' household is that the night before Christmas, everyone goes to bed early. Early had gradually become nine at night, but that is still early for most of them. The tradition started when Gemma was born and is only still in place because of Harry's strong belief in Santa Claus. His family has been supportive and very insistent on keeping Harry's belief in Santa firm, fearing what would happen if he were to suddenly give up on the man in red.

Everyone in the house is fast asleep when Harry wakes up, peering at the snow falling heavily outside of his window. The scene is dimly lit by streetlights, but at some point during the night, the light snowfall had increased enough to block some of that light. Harry isn't sure why he has awoken, but he does know that he will not be able to fall back asleep. It's not an issue. He will go downstairs to see if Santa has come, maybe grab a cookie from the plate he has left out. He baked them himself; he should be permitted to steal one.

So Harry stands up from the bed, adjusting his reindeer sweater so that it actually covers his curves, and walks down the stairs. He assumes Santa has not come yet because there are no gifts under the tree and the cookies and milk are still in place. That just means that Harry needs to hurry when he sneaks a cookie. He walks down the stairs, making extra sure not to trip over his own feet.

Once he reaches the end of the stairs, Harry looks up, expecting to see nothing. Instead he sees someone much fitter than the person he would anticipate. The man is also not wearing red, once again contradicting how Santa is meant to look. He's dressed in black skinny jeans and some Adidas sweatshirt. This man cannot be Santa Claus.

"You're not Santa," Harry says pointedly, crossing his arms.

The man turns around to face Harry, making it all the more obvious that he isn't Santa. He indeed has a beard, but it is the same brown as his hair and much shorter than Santa Claus'. His hair is even in a quiff for god's sake. A nice looking quiff but a quiff nonetheless. He's obviously much younger than Santa should be and much more attractive.

"You're not three years old," not-Santa replies before examining Harry one more time, this time squinting. "Anymore," he adds after his eyebrows shoot up.

Harry isn't sure what the man means by 'anymore', but luckily for him, most definitely not-Santa continues. He looks Harry over a little more, taking note of the reindeer on his sweater and red and green stripped knee highs. Harry looks cute, and they both know it. Only one of them chooses to state it though, and he isn't wearing a green reindeer sweater.

"Shit," not-Santa who also appears to be on the naughty list curses. "It's been so long. I almost didn't recognize you. You're fucking adorable. Jesus Christ, you're a right babe now."

The comment makes Harry roll his eyes, still confused but also amused. Then, as he stares deeply into naughty-list-not-Santa's blue eyes, it hits him. This man that Harry had been unable to identify is the same boy that he met on this day nearly two decades ago. It takes very little time for Harry to recall what he had assumed the boy's name was once he has acquired the facts.

"Louis?" Harry names, astonished that it could really be him.

Naughty-list-not-Santa who Harry has now identified as Louis, the boy he met and spoke with when he saw Santa Claus, gestures to himself to tell Harry that he is in fact Louis. Harry grabs his hand and pulls him over to the couch, giggling while Louis looks on fondly and follows him. They both sit on the couch, facing each other with dumb smiles that reveal so much but not enough on their faces.

Neither of them say anything at first. They're far too caught up in each other. Louis seems to be lost in Harry's eyes, bright starlight illuminating the forest so that Louis may maneuver but do nothing else. Harry, on the other hand, is simply observing Louis, watching the way that the man's smile drops slowly as he keeps his gaze steady. He pulls Louis from his confusion with a giggle and grabs his hand. The look of surprise that takes over Louis' face when Harry does this makes Harry giggle even more and tuck a strand of hair behind his ear with his free hand.

It has been so long since they had last spoken. Harry knows that they have both matured, but sitting there next to this man who knows Santa Claus in some way, shape, or form that Harry had not thought to ask about when he was a child, it's like they had never left. Louis' companionship feels just as pleasant as it had all those years ago.

"What are you doing here? I mean, it's been what? Decades now," Harry points out.

"Yeah," Louis agrees, shaking his head slightly. "My old man thought it would be a great idea to actually let me do a few houses. Terrible idea. This is my first one, and I've already fucked it up."

Laughter comes from Harry's mouth at that, and Louis quickly follows his lead, laughing at his own misfortune. Not that seeing Harry again was unfortunate. It was quite the contrary. Louis was relieved to see Harry, is relieved to see the boy he had first met so many years ago.

"Your old man is who? Santa Claus?"

To answer Harry's question, Louis smiles and shrugs lightly like being the man in red's only son is not a huge responsibility. Harry, on the other hand, is anything but nonchalant. He's eager to know more about Louis' life as the man in red's son, about why he had never come back. Harry isn't sure how much time Louis has allowed himself at his house though.

Deciding that it's better to ask a broader question so Louis may choose what to tell him, Harry scoots closer to Louis grip on Louis' hands tightening. He expects Louis to separate their hands, free his own from Harry's but Louis does nothing of the sort. He uses his thumb to rub small circles on the soft skin of Harry's hand, calming the enthusiastic boy and assuring him that he won't leave until Harry would like him to. Not the best idea considering the fact that Harry would like Louis to never leave, but Louis is okay with that.

"It's not as great as you'd think," Louis explains after Harry has asked what it's like to be Santa's son. "Especially when you're sixteen, and he gets upset because you prefer the Killers over Burl Ives."

Harry leans down so that his head is resting on the man's shoulder and as Louis expands on life as Saint Nick's son, he lets himself relax so that his body weight is completely resting on Louis. It's a terrifying moment when Louis moves his arm and Harry jumps to the conclusion that the very attractive man who just also happens to be Santa's son does not want Harry that close to him. Harry is proven wrong when Louis' arm wraps around his shoulders, and he pulls them closer. The motion brings a smile to Harry's face, and he cuddles closer to the man happily.

Eventually the position becomes so comfortable that Louis begins to rub Harry's shoulder much like he had done to his hand, making Harry sigh contently. It's not right, he knows, just how close he has gotten to Louis with having only known him for less than an hour but he can't help it. It's been a while since he's fallen in love, and he doesn't quite remember how it's supposed to work.

Looking up to the man who has stopped talking about the naughty and nice list to focus on Harry's beauty, Harry blinks sweetly. He decidedly wants to kiss him, but he doesn't know how to do it in a way that won't make things awkward but will move things along. He thinks about it a little more as Louis stares into his twinkling eyes. It's then that Harry gets an idea.

He smiles kindly at Louis before looking up at the ceiling. Louis' eyes follow Harry's line of sight to the ceiling, eyebrows shooting up when he sees the plant hanging from the fan above them. When he looks back at Harry, the boy is giving him a coy look before leaning towards Louis slowly. Their lips touch in a whirlwind of colours and emotions, sending them on a quick trip to the moon and back. The kiss is short, Harry pulling back when he senses a bit of hesitation on Louis' part.

"Mistletoe," Harry explains like Louis could not see the white berried plant hanging from the ceiling with his own eyes.

It has to be the way Harry bites his bottom lip, can be nothing but, that has Louis connecting their lips again and leaning back onto the couch. Harry nearly melts at this and adjusts himself to straddle Louis' hips. He jumps slightly when he feels Louis' hands on his bum that may or may not be covered by his sweater by this point. Either way, Harry conforms to Louis' hands and moans happily.

A pained groan comes from Louis as he turns his head away from Harry, ending their kiss and forming a cloud of concern in Harry's mind. He can't come up with a reasonable explanation for Louis' actions. Louis initiated the kiss. There is no reason for him to end it.

"Fuck, Harry, I really am not allowed to do this," Louis explains to the boy who is wondering when he told the man his name. "I am supposed to be putting presents under your tree not my dick up your ass."

The comparison makes Harry giggle, hiding his face in Louis' chest. He considers telling Louis that what he really wants for Christmas is a good fuck which is something that he's sure only Louis can provide for him. Harry feels it would be a bit too forward to tell Louis that he would rather a dick up his ass than a present under the tree. What lasting effect would a trivial present have? None compared to the pleasant pain of each step he would have if Louis fucked him, the burn on his thighs and ass cheeks from Louis' beard, the inability to sit down correctly the next day.

Sitting up on Louis' hips, Harry combs a hand through his hair and looks down at the man. He wonders what it would take to change Louis' mind about them having sex. From the already large bulge currently growing underneath of Harry's bum, he doesn't think it will take too much. Louis obviously finds him attractive, and they're in a position that having intercourse would only make sense.

There must be a glint in his eyes when he thinks of all the simple things he could to to change the man's mind, for Louis raises his eyebrows inquisitively. Louis must know that asking Harry to voice his thoughts aloud is only going to lead to his downfall. It's evident from the smirk that sits upon Harry's face.

"What would it take for me to convince you that your dick is the best present I could ever receive?" Harry asks with no intent of listening to an answer that fails to come from Louis' mouth. "I suppose I could sing Santa Baby and give you a lap dance."

"I think," Louis breathes, forcing his focus away from the small movements that Harry's hips are making. "I think you would be very naughty if you did that."

His green eyes shut as he laughs at Louis' response. If there's one thing he knows, it's that he's at the top of the nice list. Even doing something as risqué as giving the son of Santa Claus a lap dance would not lead to such a drastic drop in rank. That being said, even if it did lead to that, Harry wouldn't mind. Sleeping with Louis has suddenly taken precedence over his spot on the nice list. He cannot quite figure out if his priorities are finally straight or now completely jumbled. It doesn't seem to matter.

Tracing the visible tattoos on Louis' skin, Harry blinks innocently down at the man. His thoughts, however, are anything but innocent. He's wondering which lingerie combination would be best for giving a Christmas themed lap dance, not that he'll need to do that to get laid. Deciding between the red and white ones made to resemble santa's clothing and white ones with the words 'eat me' written with curly, candy cane print. Either would look nice and get him fucked.

He wonders what Louis' reaction would be. Most likely shock that transforms into sexual excitement. Harry can picture Louis aching to grab his ass, but settling for smacking it because he told Louis not to touch and apparently spanking isn't touching. Harry has only known Louis for a short period of time, but he already knows that is exactly the type of thing he would choose to do.

The painful truth is that Harry wouldn't at all be objected to it, probably pretend to be aghast and reprimand Louis, but end up shaking it for the son of Santa anyways. Oh, Harry is in trouble. He is in so much trouble. Having dirty thoughts about Old Saint Nicholas' son is definitely not what he should be doing on the night of Christmas Eve. Yet there's something thrilling about it all, sitting on Louis' ever growing boner, essentially seated on the line between the naughty and nice list. Harry can feel it, the exhilaration of being naughty, so naughty even that he could possibly drop to the naughty list.

"Well, doesn't me being naughty entail punishment?" Harry casually points out, biting his plush bottom lip before speaking aloud his next bawdy thought. "I feel spanking would be appropriate."

He is fairly sure that he hears Louis mutter a 'Jesus Christ' at Harry's provocative words which would make sense seeing as Louis grabs the boy's ass and squeezes with what feels like all of his strength. It's not what Harry was looking for, but it's pleasurable nevertheless and Harry moans happily at the feeling.

Harry stands up from the couch and stares at Louis suggestively. He's got a small vulnerable stance and a curvaceous body that just begs to be fucked raw. Sweet, adorable reindeer sweater and sexy, striped knickers to match his knee highs. Big innocent doe eyes with a playful sparkle in them. Harry is a juxtaposition of sweet and spicy, but Louis simply cannot get enough of him.

It takes a moment for Louis to catch on to the fact that Harry wants him to sit up, but when he does, he's quick to comply, a very rare thing for Louis, but he knows that the sooner he does, the sooner he gets the ridiculously gorgeous boy over his lap. It's truly worth it once Harry is bent over, legs spread slightly like he's anticipating more than spanking. His sweater has ridden up so that his panties are completely visible and his wobbling thighs scream for Louis to bite them and suck them and smack them as hard as he can.

The first of the spanks comes without warning and right before Harry can tell Louis to hurry up with it but after Louis has pulled Harry's knickers down his thighs and to his knees. The force behind the blow is not too hard, but it leaves a mark on Harry's smooth ivory skin anyways. It shocks Harry enough to leave him open mouthed and blinking, more confused than anything.

The second comes when Louis notices Harry about to comment on the former slap just to keep him silent. This one is much harder, and the red imprint of Louis' hand remains there throughout Louis' brief speech on how he knows exactly what naughty things Harry go up to over the course of the year. Louis explains how he knows every man Harry thought of while fingering himself or fucking himself with a vibrator when he really should have been studying. He tells Harry that if he had been a good boy and kept his fingers from wandering off to places where they don't belong, he would have been at the very top of the nice list. Lust is one of the seven deadly sins.

The third and final spank is by far harder than the other two, and the sound reverberates through the entire house. They sit there unmoving, burning red hand print on Harry's ass, as they wait to see if anyone was awoken by the sound. To their relief, no one was, so Harry quietly gives directions to the lube that is conveniently located in the drawer next to the couch. Louis chooses not to ask why he has a hidden bottle of lube in such a seemingly obvious place in the home of his parents.

"How hot is it," Harry pants as Louis thrusts two lube coated fingers into Harry's hole. "That you get to fuck a nice list kid into his parent's sofa?"

Louis' fingers still at the thought. His father had to exclude his name from the naughty and nice list because he could never make it onto the nice one and now he's about to fuck one of the nicest people on the list in a place where either of their parents could see. Louis is long out of his rebellious phase, but he can say with total honesty that the thought did not decrease his boner at all.

Spreading his legs wider when Louis adds yet another finger, Harry moans. He's frustrated that Louis isn't already inside him, but he knows that will come soon. Louis is determined to open Harry up very well which is sweet, but Harry knows how to take dick. He wonders if Louis knows this as well, but supposes that it doesn't matter because he plans on telling Louis this anyways. Before Harry can inform the man of this, Louis is moving him from his lap to the armrest. Harry knows exactly what Louis is planning, knows what position Louis is going to fuck him in. It's all terribly exciting and arousing, anticipation only growing when he hears a zipper.

Years and years ago, the year after Harry had encountered Santa and his son to be more specific, he had this feeling. The feeling that he thought only Christmas could provide. The last time he felt that was in his last year of middle school. After that, the feeling slowly diminished. His belief in Santa was still firmly in place, but his Christmas spirit had dropped. This. This feeling that Harry has in his chest now as he awaits Louis' dick of all things is what he has been missing for so many years.

Harry is too deep in his thoughts to notice when Louis covers his dick in lube, only notices Louis pressing into him slowly, stretching his hole out and making Harry gasp. It's so much, so much more than he had anticipated. Harry had no idea what he was getting himself into until this point, this point where Louis is not yet finished entering him and he already feels so full, this point where his face has scrunched up with the feeling into something that he knows is unattractive, this point where Harry can't be bothered to care about how he looks since Louis is not looking at his face, this point where Harry can do nothing but wait until Louis' dick has completely his ass. This point where Harry knows that his decision has been made, and it's far too late to change his mind. The experience will either be treasured or hidden in the unexplored caverns of his mind.

When Louis grabs Harry's hair violently and gently at the same time, he knows that it's up to him now. Louis is waiting for his consent to start moving and without, he will not do anything. He doesn't have to wait very long, for Harry shakes his head yes, holding his breath until Louis begins the motions. Whimpers and small whines fall from his mouth as Louis picks up the pace, rocking back and forth into Harry whose hair is draped over his face in the style of a waterfall.

If Harry is completely honest, what makes the moment even hotter is the fact that either his sister or his parents could choose this exact moment to wander down the stairs to retrieve a glass of water or use the toilets. Hell, Santa could walk in on them, or slide down the chimney to see his son balls deep inside of one of the nicest people on his list.

With every thrust of Louis' hips, his cock hits Harry's prostate, eliciting short moans that combine to create one long, drawn-out moan. With every snap of Louis' hips, the sound of skin colliding with skin echoes throughout the room. With each and every movement of Louis's hips, both Harry and Louis grow dangerously close to their impending orgasms, wondering when they will and who will come first.

Louis stops moving suddenly and pulls Harry up so that the increasingly naughty boy's sweater-clad back is pressed against his chest. His hand sneaks up Harry's front to reach a place where he feels he can support Harry's weight from which just happens to be where his nipple is. It's difficult for Harry to ride Louis in this position, requires very strenuous effort from his thighs, but Louis makes it unnecessary, fucking up into the boy. Harry wonders how often Louis works out to be able to do such a thing. It's admirable, but unachievable for Harry.

Harry's head falls back onto Louis' shoulder as he moans, strength zapped from him. He quite likes the way Louis is rolling the bud of his nipple between his fingers, but lacks the energy to say so. It is for that reason that Harry gasps out Louis' name. Miraculously, Louis seems to understand, for he smiles a powerful smile that screams ' _I've got you, darling. I'll handle everything. Just lean back, relax, and enjoy_ ' and twists Harry's hard nipple one last time before letting go.

"Come on, baby," he whispers dirtily into Harry's ear, moving his hand down from Harry's nipple. "Come for me. Let it all go," he says with his hand on Harry's tummy.

So Harry, not wishing to land any farther on the naughty list than he knows he has already fallen to, follows Louis' command, getting the white, warm substance on his reindeer sweater. His head remains on Louis' shoulder until Louis' orgasm pours over him like a warm rainfall. Then they collapse onto the couch, drunk off of their orgasms, and Harry is giggling again while Louis wraps his arms around the gleeful boy, kissing his neck because he knows that he has to go.

"You know," Harry begins sleepily after his giggles have finally subsided. "You don't have to go back to the North Pole or wherever you live. You could stay with me at my flat. I could make you breakfast before class, we could meet up for lunch, then I could make us dinner. We could fuck any time we wanted."

It should be a ridiculous idea that Louis declines softly as to avoid hurting Harry's feelings, but Louis finds himself thinking about it, and the more he thinks about it, thinks about how tired he is of living with his parents, the more interested he becomes. The incentive alone is enough to have Louis rethinking any thoughts of declining, but when he adds his own pros to the situation, it becomes nearly impossible to refuse.

Until Louis thinks about the cons. He would be deliberately abandoning his family for a beautiful stranger who happens to not only have curves that Louis could run his hands across for days, but also be a wonderful post-sex negotiator. He could never betray his family in such an awful way.

 

~ Δ ~

 

Footsteps following people calling his name wake Harry from his slumber. At first, he doesn't remember the events that occurred last night including the reason for his being half naked on the couch. He also can't recall why his bum hurts him so, and then everything hits him. He remembers each and every thing that happened, every conversation he had. Harry isn't sure what he should do. There his family is standing around him, and all he can think about his Louis' refusal. It was naïve of him to think that Louis would agree and even more naïve to think that they could work. His naïveté is a curse.

He's not sure how to begin to explain himself to his family. They haven't explicitly asked why he is sleeping on the couch, and Harry is hopeful that they are unaware of his half-naked state. Fortunately, Gemma, his wonderful sister, suggests that they eat breakfast first and tells Harry to join them whenever he's ready, giving Harry the chance to wrap the come stained blanket around his body and rush up to his room. Before he can accomplish the latter step, Harry notices a sticky note that had fallen from the blanket when he picked it up.

Curiosity is right up there with naïveté on the list of attributes Harry possesses that he wishes he didn't. He can't help but pick up the note to read what it says:

 

_You asked quite a lot of questions last night, but I didn't answer the one that I really should have. Now, I might be crazy for this, but if I am then you are, too. Therefore, I suggest us being crazy together. Maybe we'll fall crazy in love or maybe we'll be nothing but friends who fuck every once in a while. Either way it goes, I win because I get to fuck you._

_With all sincerity, I knew that there was something addictive about you the minute our eyes met and knew that you were a drug I wouldn't mind becoming addicted to when I first heard that adorable giggle of yours. So I say, let's do it because what's a drug addict without his drug?_

_Your future roommate,  
Louis._

 

In awe, Harry stares at the note, reading it again to make sure there was no clause that stated anything about it being a joke. There was nothing. Just a note promising a roommate. Harry can't believe his eyes, refuses to believe his eyes. There is no way that Louis, son of Saint Nicholas, has agreed to move in with him. There is no way that Louis enjoyed their meeting enough to want more of not just the sexual aspects, but the sweet moments as well. There is also no way that Santa Claus' son really exists, but it seems as though nothing is impossible anymore.

His mother' voice snaps him out of his thoughts and back into reality, but reality isn't just this moment right now. Reality is the state of things as they actually exist. Reality is the fact that Louis, son of Saint Nicholas did agree to move him with him. Reality is that Louis really did enjoy both the sweet and sexy parts of their time together enough to want more. Reality is Louis.

So as Harry opens his presents with his family, fingers lingering over the ones that no one claims as being from them, the ones that Louis brought, he thinks about reality, but not just that. He thinks about a possible reality. A reality where Louis watches Harry open a gift with his powerful smile on his face and openly claims it as being from himself. A reality where Harry giggles, nods, and gives Louis a kiss with his arms around Louis' neck. A reality where reality feels like a dream, and dreams feel like reality. A reality that isn't so far away.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy belated birthday to the King, Louis Tomlinson. I sin for you, Dad. All for you.
> 
> This story is the sole reason that I got coal in my stocking. If you enjoyed it, please leave kudos or even more preferably comments. You don't have to, but it would be nice. Love you all. Have a wonderful Christmas if you celebrate and if you don't, have a great day!


End file.
